


Hit the 2016th Floor, Please

by thecommodore_squid (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A Teeny Tiny Smidge of Angst, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Steve and Bucky Live Together in PEACE, Avengers Family, Birthday, Civil War Still Happened Except It Ended Happy, Dancing, Fluff, History, M/M, Unnecessary Metaphors Involving NYC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7380511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thecommodore_squid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve ducked his head. “You guys are taking me through all the birthdays I missed,” he said, semi-incredulous.</p>
<p>Natasha’s eyes gleamed. “Wasn’t my idea,” she whispered.</p>
<p>AKA<br/>Bucky may have missed Steve's twenty-seventh through ninety-seventh birthdays, but he totally has Steve's ninety-eighth birthday in the bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit the 2016th Floor, Please

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in the back of my head for like, half a year, but I just remembered it a few days ago so lol here's what you're getting.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments and kudos are the sunshine and lollipops of my life.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

Steve squinted through sleep-heavy eyes in irritation. He grabbed his phone from where it was making a terrible blaring noise and clumsily threw it across the room. It embedded itself in the drywall, and the alarm sound died.

 

Steve propped himself up on one elbow with a grimace. Maybe he’d meant to throw it that hard a little bit, but now he felt guilty. He went through, like, four phones a month. There were people out there who could use this technology, but here he was casually throwing his phone into the wall of his apartment because he didn’t want to wake up yet.

 

Steve sighed and padded over to the new hole in the wall. He reached his arm in to grab the phone and survey the damage.

 

What was left of it fell apart in his hands.

 

Steve shook his head and left the mess on the floor. He’d worry about it later.

 

He walked into the kitchen and saw that a pot of coffee had already been made. “Buck?” he called as he poured himself a cup.

 

When there was no answer, Steve felt the familiar twinge of panic that came with not knowing where Bucky was. Steve poked his head into Bucky’s room. The bed was pointedly left unmade because, for some reason, Bucky had a vendetta against his military-instilled ability to make a bed really neatly. Steve didn’t know why, especially since Bucky kept all the rest of his stuff super fucking organized, but he wasn’t about to question it.

 

Bucky wasn’t in the bathroom or the studio either. He must’ve either been hiding or not here at all.

 

Steve chewed on his lip as he returned to the kitchen, sipping anxiously from his cup of coffee.

 

He reached for the refrigerator and noticed a new sticky note placed on the door with perfect precision. Somehow, Bucky always managed to line up his sticky notes so that they were almost exactly parallel to the lines of the refrigerator. It was kind of amazing.

 

**Happy Birthday, Stevie! Have some breakfast and come meet me at the Tower. I made some French toast for you—it’s on the shelf next to the picture of Peggy. :) :) :)**

 

Steve smiled at the note. It _was_ his birthday, wasn’t it? Huh.

 

He shook his head fondly when he found a plate of French toast next to Peggy’s picture. Bucky was weird. He liked to put things in weird places. Steve almost never questioned it. He grabbed the plate and looked at the picture of Peggy, smiling sadly. “You and I both know he’s planning something,” he told her. “Buck was never very good at being discrete with me.”

 

He could practically hear Peggy’s response. _Are you quite sure he’s even trying to be discrete?_

 

Steve shrugged at the picture and started at the French toast.

 

When he was finished with breakfast, he pulled on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and his leather jacket and headed for his motorcycle.

 

Steve’s skin prickled with hyper-awareness as he walked into the lobby of the Tower. Everything was kind of darker than normal, and the only person in the lobby was the woman at the reception desk.

 

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” she said with a smile. She inclined her head towards the stairwell. “Please head up to the second floor.”

 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Steve said, entering the stairwell on the balls of his feet despite the objective knowledge that nobody was gonna try to _hurt_ him. He warily reached the second floor and frowned.

 

The office had been converted into a perfect picture of a Brooklyn bar in the ‘40s.

 

Natasha stood behind the makeshift bar, her hair curled into a perfect imitation of the past as she cleaned a glass. “Take a seat,” she said, a faint smile curling her lips. Steve hesitantly made his way over and sat down on a stool. “Little early for a drink,” Natasha mused.

 

Steve shrugged. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, glancing around at the set-up in confusion.

 

“War’s goin’ well,” Natasha said. “Finally looks like we might be winning the whole she-bang. It’s just us and the Pacific.”

 

Steve blinked a few times. “What?”

 

Natasha leaned against the bar on her elbows, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “How ‘bout you, soldier? You sacrificed enough, right?”

 

“Nat,” Steve said.

 

Natasha shook her head sadly. “You poor thing,” she tsked. “Never got to see your twenty-seventh birthday.”

 

Steve scowled.

 

“Well, welcome to good ole Independence Day, 1945.” Natasha spread her arms a little bit. “Things are great. You ever heard of the Szilard Petition? This guy asked the scientists of the Manhattan Project to take a stand against using the atomic bomb. Said silence was just as sinful as deploying the bomb themselves. He sent it out on the fourth of July.”

 

Steve said nothing.

 

Natasha grinned a sharp, humorless grin. “Twelve days later, they dropped the first bomb in New Mexico as a test.” She shrugged. “You know how the story goes from there.”

 

Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What’s going on, Nat?”

 

Natasha laughed. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist a little bit of suspense, okay?” She held up both hands peaceably. “Welcome to 1945. The world is a piece of shit. You’re turning twenty-seven.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said slowly.

 

Natasha launched herself over the bar. “C’mon. Let’s head up to 1946.”

 

She grabbed Steve’s hand and towed him over to the stairwell, dragging him up to the third floor.

 

“Happy Independence Day!” Natasha cheered as they stepped through the door, twirling Steve around and smoothly instigating a dance. “Not for the US, though. The Philippines gained their independence from the US on your twenty-eighth birthday.”

 

Steve couldn’t help but smile as Natasha continued pulling him through a dance. “Well. That’s kind of hopelessly ironic.”

 

“Suck a dick, America!” Natasha shouted, and Steve laughed.

 

Steve glanced at the decoration of the room and grinned at the flagpole in the room’s center. The American flag lay on the ground, replaced by the Flag of the Philippines.

 

“It’s actually called Philippine Republic Day,” Natasha admitted. “Or Filipino-American Friendship Day. I think it’s _great_.”

 

Steve nodded happily and caught Natasha off-guard by dropping her into a dip. She laughed in surprise, then twirled them around to smoothly dip Steve, switching their positions.

 

“Happy twenty-eighth.”

 

Steve ducked his head. “You guys are taking me through all the birthdays I missed,” he said, semi-incredulous.

 

Natasha’s eyes gleamed. “Wasn’t my idea,” she whispered. She stepped back but didn’t release Steve’s hand. “Shall we?”

 

“We shall,” Steve said.

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha opened the door to 1952 and grabbed something off the table. She flicked a coin hard, and it hit Steve in the forehead. “Ow,” he complained.

 

“Happy thirty-fourth. Canada’s Mint and Exchange Fund Act let them make gold coins for five, ten, and twenty dollar values,” Natasha explained.

 

“How are you memorizing all this shit?” Steve asked, kind of helplessly amazed.

 

Natasha flicked her hair with a theatrical sigh. “The things I do for you, Steve.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You may want to leave your jacket outside,” Natasha said at the door to 1956.

 

“Why?” Steve asked suspiciously.

 

“Trust me.”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes but took off his jacket and set it on the railing.

 

He opened the door, and as soon as he stepped inside, something clicked in the ceiling, and water started to pour down.

 

Steve sputtered in shock, and the water pounded so hard down that he was immediately soaked through like a rag doll.

 

Thank god it wasn’t cold water, holy shit, Steve would’ve been launched into a panic attack so quickly that it would’ve ruined everything. Even with the water as warm as possible without being hot, Steve’s nerves skyrocketed as he desperately tried _not_ to think of the Arctic Ocean.

 

Tony appeared out of the downpour, just as laughably soaked through as Steve. “Hey. Happy thirty-eighth,” he said.

 

“What the fuck,” Steve gasped, hugging his arms around himself. His white shirt was pretty much see-through at this point.

 

“July 4th, 1956,” Tony said with a slightly manic grin. “The US had its most intense rainfall ever. In Maryland. Hah.”

 

Steve’s shoulders hunched up around his neck, and he heard Natasha laugh at him from somewhere behind. Steve glared at Tony. “This isn’t funny.”

 

“It’s hilarious,” Tony said gleefully. “Look at us. We both look pathetic.”

 

“My hair looked good today,” Steve complained.

 

“Oh, boo hoo. You’re almost forty, Cap. You’re too old to worry that much about your hair.”

 

Steve glowered at Tony. “I hate you all.”

 

Tony’s grin just widened. “1957?”

 

“Please,” Steve muttered, teeth chattering.

 

They were all dripping wet when they got to the stairwell. Steve stared at his blessedly dry leather jacket and gratefully slipped it on, zipping it up to his neck. “Told you to trust me,” Natasha said.

 

Steve scowled at them both. “You guys have to be nice to me. It’s my birthday.”

 

“Nope,” Tony said cheerfully. “Let’s get a move-on.”

 

Steve raked his fingers through his ruined hair and followed after his friends, leaving small puddles in his wake.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve startled at the gigantic American flag. “Alaska officially joined the US!” Tony announced. “New flag!”

 

“Also, happy forty-first,” Natasha added.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve laughed when he walked one flight up to an even bigger American flag. “Welcome to the union, Hawaii!” Tony shouted.

 

“Happy forty-second.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve pushed open the door to 1964 and was immediately assaulted with blaring music.

 

Steve looked around, but the music was literally the only feature of the floor.

 

And then Clint’s head poked up from where he’d been behind a table. He smiled and waved at them, and Natasha shook her head fondly.

 

_This song was number one when you turned forty-six_ , Clint signed.

 

_What’s the song?_ Steve signed back.

 

Clint looked offended. _“I Get Around”. Beach Boys._

 

Steve rolled his eyes.

 

Clint walked over to them and clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Happy birthday, dude. May I join your entourage?”

 

Steve punched Clint lightly on the bicep. “Of course.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as they set foot on the floor designated to 1969, music started blaring again.

 

“Is music playing?” Clint asked. “I hope so. That’d be awkward. I left my hearing aids at home.”

 

Steve stared at Clint. “Why did you pick all the floors with music?”

 

Clint blinked at him. “Did you just say, ‘Why did you pickle the floors with music?’ ‘Cause I have no idea what that means.”

 

Steve signed his question, and Clint smiled.

 

“Oh! I thought it’d be funny.”

 

“Give Peace a Chance” played in the background as Natasha and Tony exchanged high fives with Clint.

 

“Anyway,” Clint went on. “The song that is hopefully playing right now was released on your fifty-first birthday. Congrats. You’re an old man surrounded by hippies.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve said dryly.

 

“Let’s keep going,” Natasha said. “My hair is suffering.”

 

It was true. Steve, Natasha, and Tony all had terrible hair from Tony’s rain day back in the ‘50s. Steve self-consciously ran his hand through the limp strands.

 

Tony shrugged. “I look fabulous. I dunno what you guys are talking about.”

 

“Let’s goooooo,” Natasha complained.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam was waiting for them in 1970, looking a little bit bitter but also happy to see Steve.

 

“Happy birthday, man,” he said warmly, coming over to embrace Steve.

 

Steve hugged him back tight. “Thanks.”

 

“You turned fifty-two in 1970, right?” Sam said. “Well. That night was also the start of the Asbury Park Riots.”

 

Tony winced behind him.

 

“They were race riots,” Sam shrugged. “Pretty damaging. But they also kinda blended in with all the other race riots going on.”

 

Steve rubbed his eye. “That’s awful.”

 

“Yeah. Wanna keep moving forward?”

 

Steve put his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Yeah. The more we keep going, the less racist it gets.”

 

Sam laughed sharply. “It’s all still pretty fuckin’ racist.”

 

“True,” Steve conceded. “A little bit better, though.”

 

“A little bit.”

 

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sam grinned, waving his hands around. “Space shit!”

 

“What?” Steve laughed.

 

“Space shit,” Sam repeated. “On your... sixty-fourth birthday? Yeah, that sounds right. NASA’s fourth space shuttle finished its last test flight.”

 

“And on that test flight was the first science experiment done on a shuttle with the Continuous Flow Electrophoresis System,” Tony blurted out, seemingly unable to keep quiet. “You know, interesting thing about that—“

 

“Dude, this is my floor,” Sam huffed. “I get to explain shit.”

 

Tony crossed his arms. “Oh, by all means, go ahead.”

 

Sam sighed. “No, no, it’s okay. Explain your science shit.”

 

Tony sniffed with exaggerated pomp. “Forget it. Moment’s passed.”

 

Sam groaned.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Steve pushed open the door for 1985, he immediately heard Wanda singing.

 

“... _and music still on MTV, her two kids in high school—they tell her that she’s uncool—but she’s still preoccupied. With nineteen—nineteen—nineteen-eighty_ —oh, hey, guys!”

 

Steve waved, and Wanda skipped over to them, so Steve swept her into a hug.

 

“Happy birthday, old man.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Love you too, kiddo.”

 

“You’ll like this one,” Wanda said, eyes alight. “When you turned sixty-seven, Tinkerbelle’s nightly flight started.”

 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

 

Wanda gave him a look. “You know what, I think we all need to go to Disney World soon. God knows we deserve a vacation. But I’ve got a video. C’mon.”

 

Steve glanced at everyone else, lurking behind him. “We should go to Disney World,” Natasha said.

 

Sam nodded solemnly.

 

Wanda tapped something on her computer, and a video of Tinkerbelle gliding down from the Princess’s Castle played. “Wow,” Steve said, impressed.

 

“And then the fireworks start,” Wanda said, pausing the video.

 

“Every night?” Steve asked.

 

“Every night,” Wanda confirmed.

 

Steve used to love fireworks. Not so much anymore, but still. “Holy shit.”

 

“Right?”

 

“Come on, nerds,” Clint said. “Time to move along. Can’t geek out over Disney forever. We’re on a schedule.”

 

Wanda linked arms with Steve, shaking her head. “Let’s go.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rhodey was waiting for them on the floor of 1994. A soccer game was being projected on the walls. “Happy birthday, Cap,” he said, rolling over to them. “America lost to Brazil in the World Cup quarter finals on July 4th, 1994.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Of course they did.”

 

Tony pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “God bless this country.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Ohhh, this one’s fun,” Rhodey continued. “Hot Mail.”

 

Steve smiled in polite confusion. “What?”

 

“Independence Day, 1996. Hot Mail started up.”

 

Sam laughed at Steve’s expression. “It’s an email thing.”

 

“Oh.” Steve made a face. “Why call it that?”

 

“Too hot,” Natasha said.

 

“Hot damn,” Tony and Clint said in unison. They high fived.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rhodey opened his mouth to speak once they reached 1997, but Tony was squirming so excitedly that he sighed and gestured for him to speak.

 

“ _Pathfinder_ landed on Mars!” Tony exclaimed.

 

“Space shit!” Sam shouted, whacking Steve happily on the arm.

 

Steve shook his head fondly.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve stopped in his tracks as soon as he entered the floor for 2009. Several people bumped into his back, and Steve hardly noticed.

 

“Guys,” he whispered faintly. “Is this floor an exact replica of the Statue of Liberty’s crown?”

 

“Uh, replica? Sure, yeah, let’s go with that,” Tony said.

 

“ _Yes_ , it’s a replica. We didn’t steal anything,” Sam said hastily.

 

“We didn’t?”

 

“Why?” Steve asked, wandering into the room, looking around in awe.

 

“Well, it was reopened on your ninety-first birthday,” Natasha explained.

 

“Reopened?”

 

“It was closed ‘cause of the terrorist threat,” Rhodey said.

 

Scott’s head popped up from behind one of the slats. “Sorry! I fell asleep. A little bit. Sorry. Happy birthday, Captain America, sir. Steve. I mean. Happy birthday, Steve.”

 

Steve smiled at Scott fondly. “Thanks. This is amazing.”

 

Scott held up his hands. “Don’t look at me, Captain Amer—Steve. Wasn’t my idea.”

 

Steve looked through the slats at the view of the city. He shook his head in wonder. “Wanna keep going?” Sam asked.

 

“Yeah,” he whispered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve reached for the stairwell door, but Sam stopped him. “Nuh-uh.”

 

“We aren’t going to 2012?”

 

“You were awake in 2012.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said, frowning. “Then where?”

 

Natasha grabbed his shoulders from behind and steered him towards the elevator. Steve stumbled a little bit in surprise but quickly let himself be guided over there.

 

Natasha pushed him into the elevator, and Steve turned to face his friends. “What’re we—“

 

“You’ll see,” Natasha said, and the elevator doors slid shut.

 

Steve stared at the doors for a moment before turning to the wall of buttons. Someone had replaced the normal floor numbers with year numbers, and Steve smiled faintly.

 

He rested his thumb lightly against the button for 2016, and then gently pressed down.

 

The elevator moved up.

 

When it smoothly slid to a stop, Steve took a deep breath and stepped onto what was normally the Avengers Common Room floor.

 

“You really outdid yourself,” Steve called out.

 

Bucky walked into view, hands shoved into his hoodie pouch. “Did I?” he said wryly. “Better than ’36?”

 

Steve pretended to mull it over. “’36 is a tough one to top.”

 

Bucky smiled, and Steve felt warm all over. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. But I think I like 2016 better so far.”

 

“Careful, Stevie,” Bucky teased, walking over to him until they were only a few feet apart. “The day’s still young.”

 

“You’re here now,” Steve whispered with a shrug. “It can only go uphill from here.”

 

Bucky’s eyes crinkled, even though he didn’t actually let himself smile. “Sap.”

 

Steve lifted a shoulder and looked at his feet. “What’ve you got planned for this floor?”

 

Bucky reached out a hand, and Steve stared at it. “A few things,” he said quietly. “Dance with me?”

 

Steve slowly put his hand in Bucky’s and Bucky pulled him into his space. A song started up over the loudspeakers. It wasn’t something that Steve recognized. It felt like a cross between the modern music he’d gotten used to and the familiar jazz he’d lived in for most of his life.

 

Bucky, thank god, didn’t try to pull anything fancy on him. He just rested his hands on Steve’s waist and started swaying them side-to-side. Steve followed suit.

 

“Four birthdays,” Steve whispered, and Bucky looked at him intently. “Four birthdays without you.”

 

Bucky shook his head. “You’ve had more than four without me.”

 

“No, listen,” Steve said. “This is important to me.”

 

After a moment, Bucky nodded. “Okay.”

 

“I had four birthdays without you in the future.” He tightened his hold on Bucky’s waist a little bit. “Wanna know what they were like?”

 

Bucky let out a shaky breath and dropped his forehead onto Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“2012. I was in my apartment by myself in New York. I think I disassociated for most of the day. Had a panic attack when the fireworks started. Slept in my tiny closet.”

 

“Fuck,” Bucky said faintly.

 

“2013. Natasha and I took an impromptu road trip to some middle-of-nowhere place in Pennsylvania. We didn’t see any fireworks. I told her a bunch of stories about you, and she pretended not to notice when I cried about it. We slept sitting up in her car, and I had a stiff neck for a few days.”

 

Bucky wound his arms around Steve’s back, leaning on him more heavily.

 

“2014. Sam and I were in a motel in Europe. Nobody was celebrating, so there were no fireworks. He told me I should take the day off looking for you. I told him to shut up. I didn’t sleep that night.”

 

Bucky turned his head so that his face was pressed into Steve’s neck.

 

“2015. Drove my motorcycle for what was supposed to be a quick ride. Ended up in Toronto. Stayed there for a few hours. I turned to head back, and by the time I got home, it was July 5th.”

 

“Fuck,” Bucky said again, and Steve could feel the vibrations of the word.

 

“I like this one a lot better,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky pulled away and looked at him. “Me too.” Bucky tucked his head down so that his chin was pressed against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Steve closed his eyes briefly. “Hey. Don’t be. You did what you had to do.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah.”

 

Steve tapped Bucky’s chin, and he reluctantly looked up. “You’re here now. If you decided to leave again for my next ninety-eight birthdays, I wouldn’t be able to ask for anything else. You’re here now.”

 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“C’mon, pal,” Bucky sighed, tugging at Steve’s hand. “I wanna show you something.”

 

He guided Steve over until they were standing out on the balcony, facing the city in its harsh, hot afternoon light. Bucky shuffled so that he was leaning against Steve’s back, his chin resting on Steve’s shoulder.

 

“This city,” he began. “This city isn’t the same one we grew up in.”

 

Steve wondered where the fuck Bucky was going with this. “I—I know that.”

 

“It’s bigger. Louder. Maybe even more confident. It’s gorgeous, and everyone seems to love it in this sort of idealistic way without needing to live in it.”

 

Steve frowned.

 

“But look at it,” Bucky continued, squeezing Steve’s other shoulder. “It’s also more distant. Sadder. This is a city that has seen shit. And it’s fucked up for it, underneath that perfectly imperfect, glossy surface.”

 

“We’re not talking about the city, are we?” Steve said, trying to sound dry, but his voice came out kinda choked.

 

Bucky nudged his nose against the crook of Steve’s jaw as some sort of answer. “I loved the city before the war. It was dirty and gritty and perfect. But I think I love it even more now. Even though it can look perfect from a million miles away, it still smells like garbage.”

 

Steve laughed wetly and turned into Bucky’s space. “I didn’t know you were a wiz with metaphors.”

 

“I’m smart,” Bucky said, reaching up to swipe an unfallen tear from underneath Steve’s eye.

 

“You’re a math and science fella, though.”

 

“I’m an everything fella.”

 

Steve glanced at the skyline again, and Bucky followed his gaze.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky continued softly. “I think I maybe wanna live in this city for the rest of my life.”

 

Steve’s breath hitched, and he didn’t think he could bring himself to look at his best friend. “You don’t mean that,” Steve said, a bit of a warning edge in his tone.

 

“I do,” Bucky whispered, softly but so, so earnestly.

 

Steve gripped the back of Bucky’s neck. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Barnes.”

 

Bucky slowly put his metal hand on Steve’s chest, right over his heart. “Steve Rogers, you listen to me,” he said lowly. “I spent two years running away from you, but I’ve spent way longer running. And I’m _tired_.”

 

Steve shook his head slightly.

 

Bucky stared at him, trying to lock their eyes. After a moment, Steve surrendered to the eye contact, unsure if he’d ever be able to pull himself out of it. “I don’t want to keep running, least of all from you. I’m _staying_ , okay? For as long as you’ll let me. I don’t want to miss another one of your birthdays, alright? I’m staying.”

 

“You’re staying,” Steve said in disbelief.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed.

 

Steve didn’t know what to do. His eyes roved over Bucky’s features, searching for a lie or uncertainty or anything that he could latch onto to turn into anger, but there was nothing but honesty and... and love. Nothing but honesty and love in Bucky’s face.

 

So, with no anger to fall back on and no words readily available, Steve did the only thing that seemed to make any sense.

 

He leaned down and kissed his best friend.

 

First, it was a touch of Steve’s lips to Bucky’s forehead. Then to his eyelids. Then to the bridge of Bucky’s nose. Then to his stubbly cheeks. Then to his lips.

 

Bucky let out a quavering breath against him, and Steve’s brain short-circuited. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He could only move, and even then, not very much.

 

Bucky was staying. Bucky maybe loved him in all the ways that Steve loved him. Bucky was _kissing him back_.

 

When they pulled away, they pressed their foreheads together, breathing in each other’s spaces.

 

“Oh,” Steve said softly, like the word had been punched out of him.

 

Bucky’s mouth quirked into a tiny, absolutely genuine smile, and he murmured, “Happy birthday, Stevie.”

 

Steve huffed out a half-hysterical breath and collapsed his weight onto Bucky. Bucky sucked in a surprised breath and stumbled half a step back before shifting to support Steve’s weight. “You...” Steve mumbled dazedly.

 

Bucky turned his head to tap his temple against Steve’s. “Yeah.”

 

“How long...?”

 

“Since ’36.”

 

Steve closed his eyes. “Of _course_.”

 

“Uh... How ‘bout you? How long?”

 

Steve flushed in embarrassment. “I dunno. Only figured it out in 2014, though.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Still.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Bucky ran his hand down Steve’s spine, and Steve shivered involuntarily.

 

“Did you have anything else planned for 2016?” Steve asked eventually. “I fucked up your plans, didn’t I?”

 

Bucky laughed softly. “Only a little. I like your plan better.”

 

“I hardly planned this.”

 

“I know.” Bucky gently pulled back a little bit so that they could look at each other. “I was thinking we could go in the basement to one of those soundproof testing facilities that Stark has. Maybe watch a few movies. Eat some apple pie or something.”

 

Steve smiled. “Yeah.”

 

“And maybe we could take the rest of the bozos you call friends.”

 

“They’re your friends too, you asshole. Don’t pretend they’re not.”

 

Bucky sighed heavily. “Fine.”

 

“How long were you planning this?” Steve asked abruptly. “How long did it take you to set up?”

 

“Well,” Bucky said sheepishly. “I started thinking about it during my last birthday. Which, you know, I spent by myself. I was like, _Damn. I missed a lot of birthdays. That sucks_. And then I was like, _Shit. Steve’s missed a lot of birthdays too. That double sucks_.”

 

Steve shook his head fondly.

 

“So, I dunno. When we moved back in together, I started researching every 4th of July you missed. I was just curious at first. Then, it was almost your birthday, and I happened to have a bunch of weird information about the past seventy Independence Days. It only took us a couple’a days to set up because the Stark Industries staff decided to help to make it faster, for whatever reason.”

 

“How’d you designate who got what floor?”

 

Bucky grinned a little bit. “They drew different decades out of a hat and then got to pick which year they’d make their debut. Except T'Challa, Peter, and Vision. They were busy.”

 

“Nerds. All of you.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Bucky tugged at Steve’s hand again. “They’re all waiting for us in the basement.”

 

“Of course they are,” Steve said. “Are you gonna tell them that we kissed?”

 

Bucky snorted. “Hell no. We’re turning it into a betting pool on who figures it out when.”

 

“Natasha first,” they said in unison.

 

“Tony last,” Steve said.

 

Bucky frowned. “Ten bucks says Sam last.”

 

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Deal.”

 

Bucky smirked.

 

“We’re gonna keep doing that, though, right?” Steve asked, almost shy.

 

“Kissing?”

 

Steve covered his face with his hands, embarrassed but not quite sure why. “Um. Yeah. That.”

 

Bucky laughed at him and gently removed his hands from his face. He stood on his tiptoes and pressed a tiny kiss to Steve’s mouth, and Steve couldn't help but marvel at it. “I hope so.”

 

The tension drained out of Steve’s shoulders.

 

Bucky hit the button for the elevator.

 

When they got down to the basement, everyone was there already, arguing over which movie to start with. Steve let the familiar arguments wash over him as he and Bucky settled down onto an empty corner of the couch, their sides pressed together.

 

“Watch this,” Bucky whispered with a wink, and then laced their fingers together.

 

A minute and a half later, Natasha was staring at Steve with an unreadable expression. Steve sent her a sheepish smile, and her eyes widened imperceptibly. _Holy fuck_ , she mouthed, undoubtedly remembering the day Steve had figured out he was super fucking in love with Bucky and had freaked the fuck out about it to her.

 

“We were right,” Steve whispered to Bucky. They high fived with their free hands, and Natasha tried to glare at him, but her eyes were too happy for it to be very believable.

 

“The first patriotic film of the night,” Tony announced theatrically, “is... Steve’s propaganda movie!”

 

Everyone cheered while Steve groaned. “Why,” he protested.

 

“It’s a classic,” Sam said happily.

 

“Sam’s right. For once,” Bucky said.

 

“Fuck yeah.”

 

Steve glared at his knees, but then Bucky yawned exaggeratedly and shifted so that he was mostly lying across Steve’s lap.

 

“Wow,” Clint said.

 

“PDA,” Wanda said.

 

“Gross,” Natasha added.

 

“Don’t speak to your elders like that,” Steve snapped with sarcastic authority. Everyone laughed at him, and Bucky turned his head to smile up at him, and somebody hit play on the movie.

 

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand again and thought that he wouldn’t trade July 4th, 2016 for a single birthday he’d missed while buried in the Arctic.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thecommodoresquid)


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